


Dragon Age Halloween Week 2017

by sophisticus



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 17:45:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12537628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophisticus/pseuds/sophisticus
Summary: HALLOWEEN IS UPON US! kind of. not really. NO MATTER. we’ve decided to celebrate its wonders in the magnificent world of THEDAS alongside our favorite characters. gather round for a week of spooky entertainment where YOU muffins will be able to create all sorts of art based on daily themes. to top it off, halloween-inspired prizes will be drawn at random among all participants, and for all of you readers and watchers, a special multi-stream shall occur during the week where you’ll be able to request doodles from amazing artists!https://dahalloween.tumblr.com/post/165440563255





	1. Sneaky Witch-Thieves

**Author's Note:**

> ★ DAY ONE || SNEAKY WITCH-THIEVES
> 
> Potions, swamps, brooms and cauldrons… we celebrate witches on the first day of the halloween week, magic and spells, perhaps misfired… and curtains on fire.
> 
> Perhaps it’s not true broom-riding like the superstition and stereotypes that abound about witches and mages, but Hawke finds that with the proper force type magic, she can propel herself forward and ride atop her staff like a wheeled board toy that she and her siblings used to have when they were kids. (Fenris disapproves)

“Are you sure this is wise?” Fenris called up to the cliff ledge where Hawke stood. The salty sea air breezed through, ruffling their hair. “The last thing you need is to have a templar catch you fooling around with magic and haul you into the Gallows.”

“You need to learn to relax, Fenris,” she replied, double checking her staff one last time. “Besides, what are they going to do, imprison their own Champion?”

Even from that distance, she could see his pursed lips. “You make a good point, but I still advise caution,” he sighed. “I still don’t see the purpose behind this.”

“Folklore in Lothering was full of various Witches of the Wilds,” she explained. “Flemeth may have been one, but there were stories of others. They made potions with toads and newt eyes, and rode around on brooms, and had black cats as familiars. I don’t know about all of it, but I’m betting I can recreate the broom part.”

“You explained that, but I still don’t see the purpose,” Fenris groused. All the same, he watched her carefully, ready to catch her should she fall. Hawke didn’t reply, but finished tweaking her staff and laid it on the ground. She stood on it, arms outstretched, and with a flick of her wrist, pushed it and herself off the cliff.

For one moment, she hung in the air, weightless; below, Fenris’ upturned face stared in a mix of concern and amazement. Then, the rest of her spell took effect, and she rocketed forward, riding atop her staff just like the wheeled boards she and her siblings played with as children. The wind whistled past, plastering her hair away from her face, and she laughed aloud. The wind snatched the sound from her lips and tossed it away. She ripped around the cliff edge and up, up into the air, before looping back and diving down towards Fenris. His brown face swelled rapidly from a dark pinprick until the whites of his eyes were clearly visible. At the last second, she pulled up and roared past him with another exhilarated laugh. This may not be typical magic, but Maker’s breath it was fun.


	2. From the Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ★ DAY TWO || FROM THE ASHES  
> What is dead should remain so… but on the second day of the week, everything is possible. Death rises, a long lost companion or a defeated enemy, and while darkspawn abound, nothing is safe for anyone. Who will you stumble upon? Or what.
> 
> The last thing – or person – Castielle expected find while enduring the Gauntlet was her months-dead father, and was one of the greatest emotional blows received yet.

“Well, good thing your mind is as sharp as Morrigan’s tongue,” Alistair remarked as the large double doors swung wide open, the lock released at the last correctly answered riddle. Castielle raised an eyebrow as the last ghostly specter shimmered and faded away.

“If the rest of the challenges are as simple as a handful of riddles, we’ll be back to Haven this afternoon,” she replied, flipping her sword around once before slipping it back into its sheath.

“Something tells me it will not be so easy further in,” Zevran said. “Something so important as the Sacred Ashes wouldn’t be likely to have weak protection.” Morrigan snorted at that, but for once had no comment. Castielle turned towards the door, and with a gesture to follow, continued forward.

Beyond the doors was a small chamber with a plain door on the opposite wall. Standing in the way of the door, looking just as he had the day she’d seen him last, was Bryce Cousland.

Castielle stopped dead, hand hovering above the hilt of her sword. “You can’t be here,” she whispered. Dimly, she was aware of Alistair at her side, staring between the two of them with growing concern.

Her father – or at least, the specter impersonating him – smiled sadly. “My dearest child,” he said, voice echoing surreally. Castielle stiffened at the sound of his voice, shaking her head once.

“You’re not my father,” she said, hating the tremor in her voice.

“You know that I am gone, and that none of your prayers or wises will bring me back,” the ghost said softly. “No more must you grieve, my girl. Take the pain and the guilt, acknowledge it, and move on. It is time.” He reached out and laid his palm on Castielle’s pale cheek. Frozen as she was, she didn’t even flinch under the icy touch. “You’ve such a long road ahead of you, and you must be prepared. And so I leave this in your hands…I know you will do great things with it.”

From his tunic, the ghost of her father pulled a long silver chain with a round pendant. He placed it in her palm and wrapped her fingers around the cool metal, and with a final sad smile, shimmered and faded away into the air.

“Father wait,” Castielle blurted, reaching out as if she could grab him and keep him there. Her fingers closed only on the dry air of the ruins. She stood there for one moment, struggling to regain her composure, before she felt a gentle touch on her arm.

“Cas?” Alistair said quietly. “Are you going to be alright?”

She sucked in a ragged breath, then let it out slowly. She didn’t trust herself to meet his concerned gaze. “We have a Gauntlet to complete. Come on.”


End file.
